


The Wooing of Sansa Stark

by Sookiestark



Series: Twelve Days of Westerosi Christmas [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: Daenerys dies in childbirth and Aegon VI needs a Queen to help him rebuild Westeros. A raven is sent to Winterfell and Sansa says she will come and see if she finds a marriage to her cousin agreeable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have been saving this story for the 12 story of the series. It won't be too long and it is mostly written so it shouldn't take too long. This is mostly Jonsa but it definitely talks about how much Daenerys meant to Jon. 
> 
> Anyway, Happy Holidays to all.....

Jon, who always thought of himself as Jon Snow, even when others called him Aegon Targaryen Sixth of his Name, King of Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, needed a bride.

He had thought Daenerys would be with him until he left this world. After all, she had wanted the Iron Throne, so much more than him. Daenerys, who was like a flame to a torch, burned so bright that it seemed to burn you if you were not careful. She loved life so much and lived every minute as if a challenge to see what wonder each minute could bring. Her dreams were numerous and he started to believe she would see each one come to fruition, just on her will to make it so, to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, to be happy, to have many children, to hatch more dragons, to break the wheel of power in Westeros, to build a new, safer, more just world, to defeat an undefeatable army of frozen dead. In the small time they had together, he knew to never doubt her or her will. 

Daenerys would get up with the sunrise and stay up until it was late, late at night, burning candles and waking him to either tell him what she had idea or problem she had solved or by her kisses telling him that she needed him to please her and be pleased.. She had limitless energy and often he was amazed how such a delicate person could have so much energy, so many thoughts. Once, Daenerys had tried to get him to go with her in the dawn to look at the sunrise over the Riverlands on the backs of their dragons. Jon had pulled her back into his arms and told her they could see the view another day, as he had things he had wanted to see in his bed. 

 

She had laughed. Jon misses her laugh the most. She did not laugh often, but when she did it was a wonderful sound. He had not thought she would be taken from him so soon. He had not prepared to lose her. 

 

Jon, Aegon VI, is filled with regret every time he sits on the Iron Throne. He did not want this. He never wanted this. Daenerys did. The day he sat on the Iron Throne, Davos had asked him how it felt to sit there. Jon had said it was not a comfortable chair and Davos had laughed. Jon believed he would prefer the old worn heavy wooden chairs they sat in Winterfell in the Great Hall and perhaps, one of his cousins would send one.

Davos had laughed. Ser Davos Seaworth was his Hand. What a pair to govern and rule Westeros, a smuggler from Flea Bottom and a hidden Prince raised his life as a bastard? 

It was Tyrion Lannister, Master of Coin, who had suggested Lady Sansa Stark as a bride, that she would add some authenticity, some traditionalism in a court of Dothraki, Unsullied, bastards, dwarves, cripples, and other outsiders. 

“Lady Sansa would please the Lords. They already tremble to see how you will throw them to the small folk and she is one of them. She will add a sense of temperance. It will help win them to you, Your Grace… Or we could find a Hightower girl, or a Penrose, a Blackwood or the Dayne girl.”

But Tyrion had turned to him and said, “Your Grace, please forgive me for speaking plainly, but you already love her. Perhaps, not as a wife, but as family and that must be better than a stranger. You know each other well and you have many of the same values.”

Jon noticed how careful Tyrion was to say family and not sister. Of course, Sansa was not his sister. He had not seen her since he had relocated the capital to Harrenhal and started rebuilding after the wars and the winter had ravaged the Seven Kingdoms. But even before that, she had never been as close to him as the other Starks. Perhaps, she had always known he wasn’t really her brother. Perhaps, she was just a girl, influenced by her mother, who was filled with bitterness over a lie that hung over the Starks for decades. 

When Tyrion had brought the idea up that he should marry Sansa, Jon had almost laughed and thought to himself that she will never agree to it. Sansa has bled and suffered to secure Winterfell. She will never leave Winterfell to be my bride.

Jon had spoke not his thoughts. Instead, he had said, “Sansa will never agree to it. Send a raven to Winterfell, and when it fails, send me any lady you wish. One will do as well as another. My heart is laid to rest with my wife, but I will give you more heirs and a pretty queen for the Seven Kingdoms. What is a King without his Queen?”

However, the raven they sent out came back with a reply that Lady Sansa Stark would come to meet with her cousin and see if they were well suited to marry. If they were and things could be arranged, she would marry her cousin, to help him rule and be a mother to his infant son and other children that they might have. 

Jon swallowed reading the letter. The line where it said other children they might have gone over and over in his brain. He had known that sex would be part of any royal marriage he agreed to, but he had assumed that Sansa would never come to be his wife. The idea of her in his bed made him uncomfortable and slightly aroused, which made him more uncomfortable. Actually, he had never thought he would ever want another woman after Daenerys.

When Daenerys died giving birth, Jon was certain he would losing his mind. He punched walls until his fists were bloody and ran to the top of Kingspyre Tower, stumbling over his feet in rage, until he reached as far as he could go. The top of the tower being melted rock and iron from dragon’s breath three centuries ago had stopped him from going any further. He had climbed to the nearest window and screamed at the moon, while Ghost howled below him and Drogon shrieked the lament of a dragon’s grief to the moon above him. 

Tormund had come to him finally, with a skin of fermented goat’s milk and his friendship. They had walked down the dark staircase together. When he had reached his rooms, the servants were trying to put back what he had torn apart in his rage. A maester came tentatively to him to wrap his bloody fists.

It was Missandei who had come with his son, white and serene, wrapped in a soft blanket of black lamb's wool. Her face was tear-stained and red from crying. Jon realized he was not the only one to have lost Daenerys. The whole world lost her and many would morn.

In her sweet sing-song voice, Missandei spoke, “It is the Prince, your Grace. Perhaps, he will soothe you.” 

He had smiled to see his son and meet him. He had dark curls with a streak of silver at the crown and the lightest purple eyes he had ever seen. His son furrowed and looked like Jon, and he almost laughed. “Did the Queen say what she wanted to name him before she passed?”

“No, your Grace. Did you not speak of it?”

 

Strangely, they had never talked about what they would name the child, this child. He brought the baby closer to him, careful to be gentle of his newborn body. “I will name him Aemon. Aemon Targaryen.”

This is his son. The child who killed his mother, as both he and Daenerys did, when they came into the world. He will make sure to find a woman to care for his son. His wife will love him as well as her own children or he will not marry. Here is the future King of Westeros. He will not be relegated to scraps of love or false flattery as affection like his father and mother had. Aemon will have better. Aemon will have a mother, who loves and cares for him. 

Perhaps, Sansa will understand how strongly he feels. He hopes she will. 

The King does not think long about it. His days are filled with petitions, plans, and strategies to rebuild Westeros and preparations to make Lady Sansa comfortable when she arrives at Harrenhal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing this, I kept thinking about lawyers in Medieval and Renaissance England. I don't really know why but I guess I am really interested in how Westeros might move from a basically medieval landscape into the a more modern world. Anyway... voila- lawyers.

Jon hears the bells, and a small boy comes to tell him that the party from Winterfell has been spotted on the horizon. He resists the urge to climb the ramparts and watch the banners of the grey wolf of Winterfell come close, like he and Robb would do as young boys when their father would return to Winterfell.

 

His household gathers and he sends for Aemon and Aemon’s nurse to come to the yard. He would not have his son bothered for any guest, but this is Sansa and she is his family. She may be Jon’s wife and the only mother Aemon will know. He wonders how small his family must look to an outside and what a strange collection of people makes up his household. 

Lady Sansa Stark rides into Harrenhal as a queen would, proud and beautiful. She rides in on a black horse in white and grey furs, surrounded by Northern soldiers. Her head is high and color in her cheeks. Her long red hair is free and flows behind her. If Sansa thinks anything less of him or anything unsavory of who is in his household, her face shows no disdain. However, Jon knows Sansa and she would never let what she is really thinking show through. 

When she comes into the yard, he remembers when she came to him in Castle Black and how they ran to hold each other. Jon would like to greet her as they had before, but things have changed. He would like to hug her and tell her he has missed her. He has missed her and Arya, as well. However, he must not think of her from before. Things are different.

Jon approaches her as she dismounts from her horse. Ser Davos and Lord Tyrion are by his side.

She curtsies deeply, head bowed, as does her entire party. Sansa speaks formally, “Your Grace, it is good to see you.” 

Jon understands by her words she also wants to remind him that they must be different. If Sansa is to be his queen, they must forget when they were brother and sister. 

Jon takes her hand and kisses it, with a flourish, like she is some foreign princess or some high born lady he has never met, not his sister who he fought and starved with across the North building an army to retake Winterfell. She is uncertain at his formality, but if she is bothered much, she barely shows it. He says, “My lady, you must be weary after your journey. It is a long trip.” 

With a gentle tug of his hand, he lifts her carefully to her feet, their eyes never breaking.  
Her eyes were overbright and so blue. Perhaps, she had wanted to hug him. Jon smiled, but the urge to look away filled him. Something about the brightness of her eyes, the color to her cheeks, the way her lips parted and she licked them, makes him feel like he should look away.

Sansa speaks, taking his arm, “We made good time. The roads were clear even with the ground soft.”

“My lady, I am glad your trip was easy.”

Introductions are made and formalities are exchanged. Sansa has brought many notable men from the North and everyone wants a chance to meet King Aegon Targaryen.  
Sansa pets Ghost, gently running her long fingers through his soft thick fur. “So this is Harrenhal... Arya and Petyr both told me much of this place, though I am sure it is different since either of their stay here.” 

He laughs and takes her arm with a nod of her permission. The King is all polite courtesy. “ I would hope so..My Lady,.. cousin, you must be weary and there is much to be discussed. We must talk to the lawyers and the maesters and the Small Council. There are documents to be drawn up and a feast on the morrow to celebrate your arrival. I know you must be tired, but I would like to introduce you to one more person.”

Aemon’s nurse brings him to his father. Gently, Jon picks up his son. Carefully, he cradles the boy, “Lady Sansa, I would like to introduce you to Aemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone.”

She looks at the boy smiling, “He looks like father, squinting, but with purple eyes. I mean, Lord Eddard Stark. He’s perfect, your Grace. You must be well pleased. 

Jon looked into her eyes. Sansa was embarrassed at referring to his uncle as their father. But she seemed genuinely happy to see his son. Jon felt a warm tug of his heart to see the joy on her face at his son. “My Lady, if you would like to rest and wash, I can put off the lawyers and maesters until tomorrow.” 

Your Grace, I will wash and change and we can face them today. We must not keep the lawyers waiting..”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

He leaned into her, “I am glad you came. I missed you.”

She smiled, whispering to him alone. “I would always come to help you, Jon. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

As spring bloomed around them, King Aegon VI and Lady Sansa Stark walked into Harrenhal.

Daenerys had planted flowers and gardens around Harrenhal. In fact, one of the first things she had done upon arriving to Harrenhal was think of a hundred ways to beautify the haunted castle. Everywhere one would look was a plot of grass and flowers or a trellis of blooming vines. The Dragon Queen had loved flowers. She would be smiling to see how the flowers took to Harrenhal. 

Jon had not thought he would father children. When he took the Black, he knew that he had given that up a family. Sometime after the Battle of the Bastards, he noticed the way women would look at him, both eligible ladies and women of low birth. Of course, it was because he was the King in the North. He would catch himself thinking about what it might be like, if he survived the war against the dead, to hold his own children. He had started to think that Sansa would legitimize him and make him Jon Stark and that he could pass on the Stark name to his children.

Jon remembered the first few nights lying in Winterfell in Robb’s old rooms, the ones he had as heir to Winterfell, since Sansa was sleeping in their father’s old rooms. He would lay there wondering which Northern maid he would marry. His eyes would linger on the ladies who hair were kissed by fire like Ygritte. Once or twice, he would think of Sansa and her hair laid out on a pillow, beneath him naked, her long white legs wrapped around his back. Jon would never tell anyone of those thoughts, but he would always finish quickly in his hand, ashamed and gratified.

Of course, none of that happened. Instead, he became Aegon Targaryen.

His thoughts went back to when he found out that he was the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and Daenerys was his aunt. Her anger had been visible in the Great Hall of Winterfell, as if he had intended to trick her into falling in love with him. Quickly, she had left the hall and went to her rooms.

Jon had followed her. In her rooms, he had said he was sorry. Taking her in his arms, Jon had rubbed his thumb against her cheek, whispering to her, “I am sorry. You can sit on the Iron Throne. I don’t want it. I will be happy to sit next to you.”

Even as he said the words, they both knew that the great lords would never allow it. Jon was both higher in the line of succession and a man. He would sit on the throne as Aegon VI. 

Daenerys had kissed him and quietly, she had told him that she was pregnant. Though he had thought to end their relationship, the idea that his child would be a bastard was something he could not tolerate. Instead, he had kneeled before her and asked her to marry him. 

On the twelfth day after he returned to Winterfell, Jon Snow, the King of the North traded his crown of bronze in front of a weirwood tree for a Dragon Queen bride, with her belly full of his son, the name of Targaryen, and the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“I am yours and she is mine.”

Jon had looked in her violet eyes and thought how it reminded him of the sky at dusk on the Wall, how cold, beautiful, and mystical. Aegon had kissed her and promised the Old Gods and the New that she would be his wife and he would do right by her and all their children, as long as he drew breath, as long as she drew breath.

 

Lord Tyrion had thought to have them say the vows of the Seven in front of the tree with a Septon. “It is best to keep the followers of the Seven happy, as well as the followers of the Old Gods.” 

When Daenerys had died, they had built the pyre and burned her in the yard. Jon wondered if he would always lose the women he loved to the fire.

 

When Sansa had washed and dressed, she came down to talk with the lawyers, maester, and Small Council. She handled the questions of the Small Council and the lawyers with great diplomacy and skill. Jon could not understand where she got the strength, as she laughed and joked with them. She talked about how she would set aside Lady of Winterfell to her sister, if the time came that she would be Queen. If Arya died without issue, their second child, either boy or girl would be heir to Winterfell. If Gods forbid, Aemon died, their second child, if it was a girl, could be Lady of Winterfell, but the next male child would sit on the Iron Throne. 

Jon hated lawyers, though he knew it was a necessary evil. After all, the North would not want to get too involved in the politics of the South and in the mess of a Southron war.

Somewhere in the middle of inheritance and titles, the issue of Lady Sansa being unable to conceive had come up. It had been brought up that she was married twice and there had been no children in either marriage. Though her first husband graciously stated their marriage had been unconsummated, there had been a great deal of evidence that her second marriage had been consummated and there had been no children. 

“If Lady Sansa is unable to conceive in two years, you must put her aside.”

Jon had gotten angry, “I would not insult my cousin. We will not have this conversation, now or ever.”

In a rage of quiet anger, Jon had left the room and went to his chambers. Ser Davos came to his chambers to speak with him, “Your Grace, perhaps, you and Lady Sansa could come to an understanding...”

Jon had looked at him, not understanding what his Hand meant. 

“Perhaps, you might bed her before the wedding. She might get pregnant and then there would be no worry. Better to do it now than to annul the marriage later and put her aside. There are a good portion of the population that were made before their parents were wed. Who knows she may not be averse to it?”

 

Jon would not hear about it, “Ser Davos, how would I possibly bring this up? I can’t even imagine having this conversation with Sansa.” 

Jon had wanted to clear his head and decides he would take Rhaegal for a ride. He rarely flew since Dany had died. She was the one who loved flying. 

On his way to the godswood, Jon thinks about his wife and the shameless things they did. The lazy endless nights on their way back to Winterfell by ship while he learned her body and the ways to make her cry out, the ways to make her happy. He knew Daenerys was married twice before him and that she kept a lover, some dark haired sellsword in Essos. She brought experience like Ygritte. Both of them would tell him what they wanted, what they needed. 

Sansa has also had two husbands, but he knows she is more a virgin than him. He has heard all he could stand about her marriage to Ramsay Bolton and he is certain that she has probably not known pleasure or joy. Jon does not want to frighten her or shame her. He thinks about when Daenerys would take him in her mouth. For a second, he imagines Sansa on her knees. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he feels his face color with shame. 

He had stumbled into the godswood and went to the heart tree. A few feet from the heart tree was a weirwood stump. Sitting on the stump, remembering when Daenerys had been close to the end of her pregnancy, she had asked him to go for a walk with her. He had kissed her and told her that she should rest.

She had laughed saying, “I will get enough rest when I am dead. Walk with me.” 

He had taken her arm and walked through the tangle of the godswood. As they had walked, he had seen her boots were untied and he helped her sit so he could tie her shoes for her. In her state, she would never be able to reach over her stomach to tie her shoes.

Laughing, Daenerys had said, “Aegon Targaryen, look at how well you bend the knee.”

He had smiled a sad smile because he knew that it was a source of constant irritation that he was King. She was his wife and she was Queen, lesser in all; in sex, in claim to the throne, in authority.

Jon had started to speak and try to apologize and offer words of some kind, but in nine months he had never been able to think of the right words to say. He knew that they would not come know. He took the stray silver hair from her face. She had taken his hand and kissed his open palm pressed against her cheek.

“I love you,” she had said.

It was the first and only time she had said those words.

“I love you, Daenerys. He had kissed her and then kissed her belly. “I love you.. “ 

He had pushed her dress up and pulled her legs apart. Laughing, she had spread her legs and pushed closer to him. He licked her sex, until she had cried out in the afternoon godswood. Like Children of the Forest, they made love in the cold, spring mud of the godswood, while Jon whispered I love you to her over and over again. She had tightened hard against him and he had hoped that someday his love would be as good as the Iron Throne, but he knew it would never be a fair exchange.

Rhaegal had heard him in the godswood. When he saw Jon, he roared happily and bent down, so Jon could climb on his back and take to the sky. Jon corrected himself--her back. After all, she had laid a clutch of dragons eggs, four perfect eggs. Lately, she was often sleeping on them and protective. But when she had seen him, he had known she had wanted him to go with her flying.

Looking back, he had known she had wanted to fly with him even before he had left his rooms. He had worn his thick black furs and his gloves that he had worn as King in the North. He rarely wore them in the South, but in the cold air above it would suit him. He could not say how long he had been in the air when he was on Rhaegal back, he could often lose track of time,

When they landed, he noticed her, a slip of blue and red on the edge of the tree line. Sansa stood watching Rhaegal land. Rhaegal was smaller than Drogon and there was a small clearing that he could land in the godswood at Harrenhal. With Ghost by her side, she walked out of the protective covering of the trees and watched Jon dismount. 

Rhagal chirped and rumbled, but she did not seem distressed that Sansa was so close to where her eggs lay. In fact, Rhaegal seemed to trust her. Perhaps, it was because she stood beside Ghost or it was because he trusted Sansa. 

Sansa came a few feet closer to the dragon. He could see her looking at him in wonder and remembered what it was like to see Daenerys step off a dragon up close. Rhaegal bent down and Jon dismounted from the green dragon’s back.

“You look like Aegon The Conqueror himself on the back of Balerion.” 

He smiled, “I am sure that is not true. I do not have the Targaryen look.” 

She looked at his chest, looked in his eyes, lingering at his mouth. “Perhaps... but nevertheless, you look like the dragonlords from the stories I read as a girl. May I touch her?

He rubbed his beard trying to rub the chill out of his face from chill of the spring air.

“She is tending her eggs. She probably would let you, but for the first introductions, let’s do it a little further from her clutch. Maybe tomorrow. I wouldn’t want her to be defensive.”

“Of course.”

He took her arm, as they walked in the godswood. Sansa leaned into him speaking quietly. “Jon, I have been thinking about what the Small Council said about my inability to conceive.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the name of this story and I added a few more chapters. I hope to update it every couple of weeks. It is mostly written. I hope you enjoy

Sansa spoke, “I have been thinking about what the lords say about my fertility.”

Jon spoke, “Please, don't worry about something like that. It doesn’t matter.”

She answered him, “It matters, Your Grace. It matters.” 

As they walked through the overgrown forest, pockets of wildflowers grew out of the overgrowth in the patches of sunlight they could find.

She stopped walking and looked at him, “I am wondering if we should try…” 

He looked at her questioning, “Try what?”

Flustered, Sansa’s cheeks turned pink, “I mean, try and see if I get pregnant.”

Jon looked at the heart tree, toward Rhaegal, toward anything other than her eyes that are intent on his. 

“I wouldn't lie to you. You saw me after I escaped. You know what cruelty Ramsay was capable of. While I was married to him, I lost weight. I stopped eating. I was under a great deal of stress and I was so unhappy. I have never mentioned it but I think I was pregnant. I did not have my courses for two months. I cut myself to make it look like I did. I did not want him to think he had succeeded in claiming me as his. On the way to Castle Black, I bled. I did not cry, not even a little. All I felt was relief.”

Jon wanted to say something but he could not think of any words that might ease her pain.

“I am in better health. There is no cruelty, none of the stress that I had. What would be the harm in trying?” Sansa looked at him approvingly, mouth slightly parted. Looking at him like the ladies after he was made King in the North, he felt awkward that Sansa would look at him that way. 

“It is no small thing,” he spoke. “You do understand what you are saying.”

Jon felt like Sansa might be a little mad to speak, so casually of her plan. She smiled, ”My Lord, I know what it entails. I have been married twice before.”

“The Lords have no right to ask this of you.”

“Your Small Council is trying to help you They have every right to ask the question. It is important for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms. There is a feast tonight.”

“Sansa, I would not ask it of you.”

“And you have not asked it. Instead, it is me asking you. It is me trying to violate the King.” she smiled, teasing him. Jon laughed, nervously and took her arm continuing to the yard of Harrenhal.

Jon thinks about Dany. He thinks about the things they would do in bed, her silver hair all around them. He will not ask Sansa to do the things Daenerys did. After all, Sansa was raised in Winterfell and would never want the same things. The first time Daenerys took him in her mouth, Jon felt like his heart would burst from his body. Sansa would never think about such wickedness.

Jon had liked to watch his wife bathe, Daenerys would have a chair set up so he could watch and help her wash her hair. Daenerys had laughed at him and how eager he had watched her in the tub. For a second, he imagines Sansa in the water of her tub. Sansa, naked with water running off her in rivers, as she straddled him in a chair. He feels his heartbeat quicken and wonders if he is flush to think of his once-sister in such lecherous ways. 

Jon looks at her, certain he is flushed. “We can try if you would like.” 

 

She nods approving and they continue their walk out of the godswood. When they reach the yard, she smiles “Tonight, come to my room.” 

“I see Aemon.”

“I would never keep you from your son. After that, come to my room.”

Dinner is a tense affair. He has been thinking about her all day about going to her rooms, about what will happen. Sansa comes to dinner wearing blue with her hair down in the Northern way. She is beautiful. She seems to have no cares or anxiety about what the night will hold for them. Sansa laughs, drinks wine and talks with the lords.  
Jon finds it difficult to eat, He decides that he will not go to her rooms. He will go to see the Prince and then he will retire to his rooms alone. Sansa does not need to prove she is fertile.

He leaves the feast after Sansa departs. Walking quietly, he scratches Ghost on his neck. When he arrives at Aemon’s room, Sansa is there. Aemon’s nurse seemed hesitant to hand the child to Sansa. 

Jon smiled at her protectiveness, “Lady Sansa can hold my son. She is one of the reasons I am here today. I trust her with all I have.”

The nurse handed the baby to Sansa. Sansa smiled softly and gently reached for the baby speaking to him, softly. It reminded him of her mother and he loved the sound of Catelyn’s voice soothing her children. How he had longed that one day Lady Catelyn might soothe him with her gentle voice. Jon finds himself entranced with watching her take care of his son. 

 

When they are finished with Aemon, Lady Sansa takes his arm, “Walk with me to my rooms, your Grace.”

Jon realizes that she intends him to go with her now. Immediately, he starts to think about what will happen in a few minutes and he tries to think of an excuse he could make. As he walks Sansa to her rooms, he thinks to himself he did not get to woo Daenerys or Ygritte.

Perhaps his father-uncle, Ned had the way of it. They had never really talked of women. His father was not the type of man to talk lightly of a woman’s charms. Ned was quiet and shy. But once on Lady Stark's name day, he had honey candy in the shape of fish and wolves brought all the way from Lord Harroways Town. Ned had built Catelyn a sept so she could worship her gods. Jon could remember the men building it and how she had clapped her hands and squealed with happiness when it was completed. 

Lord Stark did not speak much of women, but once after Theon had gotten caught with one of the tavern girls at Winterfell, he had gathered Robb, Theon and Jon together. Ned had spoken, “A man must hold his wife in high regard. We are not good with words in the North but we can show them with actions. We must show them.”

When they reach her rooms, Jon hesitates, “My lady, you were my sister once.” 

“Your Grace. that is true but I wasn't very sisterly.” 

She gives him a small smile and pushes her chamber door open. 

It is dark and the light from the candles outlines her body. 

“Help me, Jon “she says. Sansa has mostly untied herself out of her dress. There are some laces that she requires his help. In the light of the fire, he loosens the laces of her dress. Sanas starts unbraiding her hair.

“Help me,” she says, her neck exposed and long. The light of her neck is warm and inviting and he bends down and kisses her neck. Sansa moans. He feels himself hard against her back.

“Jon,” she says as she turns. When she meets his eyes, they glitter in the dark and she kisses him. There is color in her cheeks and her loosened dress falls off her shoulders. His heart skips a beat.

“Call me, Jon again he says. His voice is hoarse with desire. 

Uncertain but playful, Sansa speaks his name again, “Kiss me, Jon.” 

“No one calls me that anymore.” Jon speaks. He kisses her hard, trying to see if he can feel desire in her. It is a symptom of being a warrior, to read body language even in the dark. With her this close, he becomes sensitive to her body and the way it speaks to him. He can tell she likes the way he is kissing her by the quick breaths and the sound she makes, the way she learns how to imitate his kisses. It shows him that she wants it to feel as good to him as she feels. 

Jon pulls her closer and touches the curve of her breast, the cloth between his fingers and her skin. For a moment, he feels her flinch and freeze like a frightened rabbit trapped. He stops and looks at her to assess her reaction. He remembers back to when they had first gotten Winterfell and how she had told him that after her time with Ramsay she would startle easy. He looks at her to see if she is afraid, to see if he can understand why she flinched away in the dark with no words. 

She is against her bed, biting her lip as she is untying his pants. Her fingers above the cloth make him strain to be touched. While he searches her face in the almost darkness, he sees that her dress had pushed up and he could see the white length of her thighs. He reached down to touch the skin and fingers felt the scars from Ramsay’s handiwork what he did to her. Her dress is hiked to her thighs and the skin is so soft. 

Softly, Jon leans her back against the mattress. Slowly he traces the scars from her toes to her small clothes. She watches him study them. Finally, Sansa speaks, “I should have warned you.”

“I had forgotten.”

“If it is upsetting, we can turn the curtains on the bed to make it too dark to see.” 

“No,” he said, “I want to see you.”  
Jon would like to woo her to see her face light up and her smile break through her unruffled exterior to see her happy as when she was a child. He would like to try and win her heart. He would like to be good at love as he is as fighting. He would like to be given a chance to make her love him.

Jon may not have courted Daenerys but he could remember the simple acts he had done to court her in a way; the cave and the dragon glass, touching Rhaegal, touching her arm, making her laugh. Maybe this would be good for both of them; to try and court her and see if he could win her heart. Perhaps, Sansa would never fall in love with him, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t know that he did not try. 

She reaches for him again to kiss her again. 

 

Jon speaks, kissing her hand, “Stop. We can wait. There is time. We have time. Let me try and woo you.” 

“Woo me?” she asked gently.

“Yes. Has anyone tried to court you, win your heart? You know, like the knights in the stories you would read as a girl. You and Jeyne would swoon to hear them.”

Sansa laughs gently, “No, I have never been courted.”

“Let us not do it this way, where we bed first and have to try and fit everything later. I don’t want to start this way. I want to try something different. Let me try and win your heart, Sansa Stark.” 

She giggled and looked at him again to see if he was joking. When she saw that his expression did not change, she spoke, “You mean like tourneys and favors and flowers and music.” 

Jon smiled broadly, “Yes exactly. Would any of those things work?”

Sansa laughed for real, a deep beautiful sound from her belly. He could hear the joy, true joy in it. “I think you are supposed to try without my help.”

“Don’t worry, Sansa. I have some ideas.” Running his hands through his hair, Jon kissed Sansa’s forehead and fled.


	4. Chapter 4

On the first morning, after Jon decided to try and see if he could win Sansa’s heart, he brought his idea to the Small Council. It was then he learned a lesson he had learned a great deal over the last few moons, a King often does not get to do what he would like. As he looked over his Small Council, he saw all the men looking at papers or their shoes as he spoke of his plan. Lord Tyrion was the first to speak, as usual.

“I think that is a wonderful plan but I know many lords grow restless and wish for their daughters to be Queen. However, I do not want Lady Sansa to be rushed or Your Grace to not have the time he needs. Perhaps, we could hold a Ball, like Aegon the III had when he selected a bride. We will have eligible maidens come from across the Seven Kingdoms. We will hold it in three weeks. That will give you both plenty of time. Then at the Ball, if you choose Sansa, it could be announced, and if you choose a different lady, we could have you wed within the month. All the lords would feel they at least had a chance to present their daughters. No one would feel too slighted. How does that sound for a plan?”

Jon wanted to protest and say he did not like that plan but the others on the Small Council liked it a great deal and began to plan immediately, sending ravens and messengers out within the hour. Since his Small Council seemed to have a great deal to plan, Jon went to his study to answer letters and petitions. Occasionally, he would look up from his work and think about Sansa and something he might do to make her happy. 

On the first night, he asks her at dinner if she would like to sit in his study and talk with him. They spend it peacefully in front of the fire, exchanging funny stories about the past, about summer snows, harvest feasts, Arya’s pranks, and Robb’s good nature. At one point, they are laughing and Sansa has a big smile on her face. Jon thinks to himself that this reminds him of their nights together in Winterfell before Dany, before the war. He thinks that her smile makes him warm and he wants to make her smile more.

On the morning of the second day, Lady Sansa knocks on the door of his study after his Small Council. She smiles, “I wondered if there is something I might help you with. I feel slightly useless.”

“Of course,” he says. He shows her the plans for rebuilding King’s Landing. He shows her the plans to increase charters for towns by two in each of the regions, to increase trade, and to increase food production. Jon shows her the plans to build a school that might someday rival the Citadel in King’s Landing. He will call it the Queen’s College for his dead wife. Sansa listens and offers her ideas and opinions. He finds the time passes quickly in her company. 

When he goes to visit Aemon for his daily time with his son, he invites Sansa to come with him. Sansa sits on the floor to play with the baby. She does it immediately and with no artifice. At first, he was wary of her kindness, not that he thought she would hurt the baby, but that she did not care as much for another woman’s orphaned child. He thinks it must be from his own childhood and the slight he felt from Sansa’s mother. Jon knew that Sansa might know more than anyone how much he wanted a mother for his son. He had wanted her to love Aemon, to hold him, and to think he was as wonderful as Jon did.

Of course, to see her on the carpet with Aemon, her skirts spread out pulled at a place that was raw in his heart, that was all longing in ache.

 

He thinks Daenerys never had a mother. Jon had a father, but no mother. But Sansa had a mother and a father. She knows how to mother his son. Watching her, he sees how natural this comes for her. It is in her. There is a light to her face when she sees the boy and he knows she genuinely cares for the baby. He thinks to himself, even if she is unable to carry his child, she will love Aemon as her own. 

 

On the second night, at dinner, Jon has the cook make steak and kidney pies, mashed potatoes, and lemon cakes. Sansa laughs to see his effort and eats heartily. That night, she brings Aemon to the fire to sit with them and talk until it is his bedtime. He smiles to hold him and thinks to himself he is glad she brought him. Every night after, Aemon spends time with them before bed. 

On the third day, he is glad to see her at his study door. On the fourth morning, Sansa wakes to a room full of wildflowers. By the fifth morning. Jon brings her on his arm to the Small Council. As he introduces her to the Small Council, King Aegon speaks, “Lady Sansa will be joining us for the Small Council meeting. I wish her to be here. Her counsel is a help to me.” 

King Aegon works tirelessly but even the King must take a rest someday. On the last day of the week, the King sends word to Sansa to dress warmly for he is taking her on a trip. When she meets him in the yard, She looks at him curiously, “Are we going riding?”

“Yes,” he says, “but not horses.”

Jon takes Sansa and leads her to the godswood. Rhaegal meets him as if she has known he would come. She roars a gentle rumble as a good morning. He scratches her snout gently. Slowly, he takes Sansa’s hand and places it on Rhaegal’s nose. The dragon breathes her scent and roars a gentle good morning. Jon senses that Rhaegal understands Sansa is his family and has a connection with her ride. Jon climbs on her back and helps Sansa mount her behind him. He likes the feeling of Sansa's arms around him tightly, the way he could hear her breathing in his ear, the way her body pressed against him. 

Sansa asks with a small amount of hesitation, “We are going to fly?...”

He smiles at her, a wide grin, “Yes. Hold tight.”

In a moment, they are in the air, flying and Sansa laughs in delight. Jon takes her to Maidenpool. Maidenpool is being rebuilt still from the War of the Five Kings. He has taken her here because of her love of the story of Florian and Jonquil. He has hired an acting troupe from King’s Landing to put on the play and they do it with great relish. Lord Mooton and his family sit with them to watch the spectacle. The townsfolk cheer for King Aegon and children bring Sansa flowers. When the performers are finished, Lady Sansa rises to her feet, as if she was still a girl and claps heartily for the performance.

Afterward, they eat lunch with Lord Mooton and his family. Then, Jon takes her to the sea. They watch Rhaegal dive in the water catching fish. When they return to Harrenhal, Sansa kisses his cheek. “Thank you, Jon. That was such a lovely day.”

 

The next weeks, Jon notices how Aemon reaches for her as often as he reaches for him. Lady Sansa begins to bring Aemon to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Jon watches how she will read letters in her lap out loud to Aemon, as if he could understand, balancing him in her lap and keeping ink and quills from his grasp while she hands him amber beads from Novosh and wooden animals. He laughs to see how she can manage it but it never seems to fluster her. It reminds him of when Bran or Rickon were small and how Lady Catelyn would do the same. It saddens him to think of his brothers who died so young. 

Their conversations at night have moved from all the things they have lost to all the things they can build and rebuild in the future. Now, they talk of the new Sept in King’s Landing, hiring a board to run Queen’s College, creating a committee of lords to help have a voice to the King to say their peace, not just a Small Council, to create a standing army. He finds he has hope again and thinks of the future more and more and not only the things he has lost. 

A week before the Ball, Jon thinks to ask Sansa how she feels about him if his courtship has worked. It is difficult to read Sansa. She is not given to show much emotion. Her face is mostly unreadable unless she is with Aemon. Over the last weeks, he has learned something. Jon does not want to marry Sansa unless she loves him. If she was another lady, he would not need that. But since she has always been his family, he wants her to love him, to desire him, to care for him. He wants them to be special. 

He knows Aemon is special for her. But Jon cannot tell if he means anything to her, beside a cousin. He wants to ask but finds he cannot. King Aegon VI is afraid, fearful he means nothing to her. Deep inside, he still feels less compared to her. He knows this is foolish but he cannot stop thinking about it.

A few nights before the Ball, Tormund Giantsbane comes to Harrenhal. He is the first guest. He embraces Jon warmly and Sansa, as well. Jon takes him aside to the yard. At dinner that night, Jon and Sansa listen to Tormund recount tales of his adventures and news from the North. As dinner finishes, they eat fruit and cheese. Jon tells a servant to bring the present for Lady Sansa.

The servant brings a large basket with a lid. It is placed on the table before her. Aemon, who is sitting in her lap, reaches for it. She looks at Jon and smiles, handing him his son. As she goes to open the basket, she hears small sounds coming from within the basket. The basket bounced and shuffled and there is definitely something alive inside. The sounds are familiar and they remind her of Winterfell and being a child again. It is the small sounds of a helpless creature. 

She opens the basket and inside is a small, grey-and-black, wolf pup. Jon sees that she has tears in her eyes as she picks the furry animal up in her arms. The pup is a dark wolf more like Shaggydog in appearance than Lady. but when Sansa raises her hand the wolf is attentive and curious. 

“Tormund found him,” Jon says, “and I thought she might make you happy. We are not sure if she is all direwolf or only half, but she is a sweet thing.”

Sansa laughs, “She is wonderful. Thank you.” 

She hugs him once, an awkward, distant hug with a pup in her arms and Aemon in his. Sansa looks at him, slightly amazed, and sits in her seat. Jon finds himself smiling a broad grin for the rest of the night, thinking courtship isn’t so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously, the next chapter will have a few obstacles so that Jon doesn't have it too easy. But as I said in the tags this is fluff so there will be a happy sweet ending to this story. I am sorry it has taken so long. Hope you enjoy.


	5. Chapter 5

The next week is a flurry of activity. All the routines that Sansa and Jon have created are disrupted. Lords and their eligible daughters, sisters, or female cousins flood Harrenhal. When each Lord arrives, they compete for the time and company of the King. In each meeting, they introduce an eligible girl or woman for the King to wed. Each lady is lovely and wants to spend time with the King to show him their many charms. Some of the ladies are demure and shy. Others are much more willing to be obvious about their charms and their desires to be Queen.

 

Rumors have leaked that the King is not pleased by his cousin. It is said that the King will send her back North, that she is too cold, too formal for his taste. Lady Sansa Stark is nothing like his dead beautiful Dragon Queen. Around the twisted halls of Harrenhal, the rumors that Lady Sansa is barren and the King’s Small Council is against any potential union between Lady Sansa and King Aegon. There is even a rumor that Lord Lannister will ask her to remarry him so that she will not feel the sting when the King sends her packing to the North. All these rumors have done is inflamed the desires of young highborn women to vie for the King’s attention. 

 

As soon as the lords arrive, Jon finds he is accosted several times a day by some maiden, requiring help or something from him, like a walk around the garden, or to help her reach something. With all these interruptions, Jon has not gotten the chance to sit with Sansa. He finds he misses her. 

The Lady that he seems to find in his company the most is Lady Aerea Velaryon, Lord Monterys eldest sister. She was a pretty girl, young with the Valyrian looks. Sometimes, she reminded him of Daenerys and he knows that is not a coincidence. However, Jon did not like the way she looked at him like he was not a man, but just a King and a crown. 

Lady Sansa has also found companionship. Besides the few Northern ladies to attend to her and keep her company, Jon has noticed that Lord Tyrion and Sansa often will talk with each other in the gardens or at the table. He finds it bothers him but he reassures himself that Lord Tyrion is too loyal and much too intelligent to try and court Lady Sansa until the King makes his decision on his bride.

However, as the days pass, he finds Sansa in the company of Lord Gendry Baratheon, the Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall. Lord Gendry and Lord Edric are handsome, heroes of the recent war, strong and accomplished. They are both seen in Sansa’s company, attentive and laughing. Jon has seen Sansa and Gendry from the window while he was in meeting with his Small Council and she has been all smiles. Though he has been happy to see her laughing, there had been an undercurrent of irritation at seeing her with other men, enjoying herself. 

He wonders if she misses their time together at all or if she is just playing the game to be Queen. As if Lord Davos is a mind reader, his Hand tells him casually that Lady Sansa is still visiting the Prince three times a day, alone and it is said she feeds him and tells him Northern stories. Jon nods at these words and thinks how he has not been able to see his son awake in days. The preparations and gathering have kept him busy and he can only visit Aemon in the darkness of night when he is sleeping.

Jon had spent a great deal of the Crown’s money to make the feast an event memorable for all who attend. It was the first Ball the King would hold since his coronation. Jon was not the type of King to spend money frivolously so this might be one of the few times he let money out of the coffers so freely. Lord Tyrion had thought it would be good, good for the people to see that he was a generous powerful King of the Seven Kingdoms, good for the people to see that the realm could spend money again and have revelry, good for the lords and ladies to follow suit.

The King had commanded all the fireplaces cleaned and lit in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. The entire castle had been scrubbed from glass to wood, to stone. Everywhere in the hall, every surface and wall was covered in the black and red sigil of House Targaryen. The tables were laid out with red and black linens covered with cheese, meats, pigeon pies, roasted boar, venison, as well as a variety of vegetables. In the center of the tables was a large cake that his bakers had been working on for days. Jon couldn’t wait to show Sansa their handiwork. He had it made special for her.

 

He finds it strange that now when there are so many distractions and things to do, his thoughts all fall to Sansa. In the middle of meetings or reading letters, Jon catches himself thinking back to the way she licks her lips when they are dry, or the place where her ear meets her head and how her hair flows, or when it was just him and her at Winterfell after they had defeated the Boltons. 

These are the memories Jon goes back to throughout his day. It almost makes a smile break his otherwise dark face to think back how close they were in that time. Just the two of them against all the enemies. She had slept in the room next to his and they would spend most of their days together, the nearness of her throughout the routine activities of the day. He wishes they could be that close again, that unrehearsed simplicity with no defenses or formality.

There are two memories that catch his breath and spring up unawares in the days before the Ball. The first one is the night before he left Winterfell to treat with Daenerys. He had decided to go to Dragonstone and plead his cause to the Dragon Queen for dragon glass and aid in the upcoming war. It seemed like a hopeless cause but by then, Jon had started becoming accustomed to fighting unwinnable wars.

 

Sansa and Jon had been drinking ale by the fire in her room. Jon hadn’t said the words to Sansa but he had been afraid to plead his case to the Dragon Queen. It was said she was as mad as her father and perhaps, she would command her dragons to eat him or burn him where he stood. However, even without telling Sansa of his fears, it was if she knew he was afraid, even without speaking. In fact, she seemed to have her own fears and was anxious to let him leave.

 

As they drank, they made small talk about the keep or the little things that had happened in the day, like the horse that delivered a foal or the number of eggs the chickens had been laying. Jon had wanted to stop speaking about such things and tell her how much he admired her and how brave he thought she would be. He wanted to tell her if he died, Lady Sansa would be a great Lady of Winterfell. In his opinion, she was all a lady should be; intelligent, careful, cunning, strong, and beautiful. However, he found he could not speak anything when she was near. He may be the King in the North, but near her, he felt he was still the Bastard of Winterfell.

As the night grew, Sansa had told a joke. He could not remember what it was or what made it so funny but they had laughed. They had laughed so hard that Sansa had covered her face, protectively, to cover her smile and laugh. When they had stopped laughing, Jon had taken the hand over her mouth. “You shouldn’t cover up your smile. It is a beautiful thing.”

Sansa had licked her lips. With great care and deliberation, she had touched his face gently, her blue eyes filled with fire and tears. He remembered the intimacy of the moment, a moment that she let her guard down, the mask she wore around the Winterfell every day. Sansa spoke, “Please be careful. I do not want to lose you. You are too trusting, too honest. It killed Father and Robb. It will kill you.”

Jon spoke, his hand over hers. He had remembered how his voice had sounded thick with emotion. “Sansa, I am not a boy. I am older than you. I know how to negotiate.”

 

Sansa had touched his hair, pulling his hair free from the tie in it. “I know you are a man, but be careful. You do not know how women are or how the game is played.” 

 

He had spoken in a growl, “I know, Sansa. I know more than you think I do.” 

 

Jon could not remember if she had pulled him to her or maybe they had been pulled toward each other, but they had kissed that night. It had not been a sisterly kiss. It had been a kiss like Ygritte had given him, all heat and ache and when Sansa’s tongue ran against his bottom lip, he had pushed her on the couch beneath him. 

 

He had whispered to her all the things he had never been able to; about how she was beautiful, about how she could protect the North, about how she was strong and fierce and he would return for her. All these fevered whispers were between the long slow kisses, full of want and things unsaid in daylight. Drunk and blind with desire, Jon had pulled away from her when she had touched his belt and started to unbind him. As if she burned him, Jon had stood up, certain she would hate him and herself if he allowed it to continue, certain it was the ale and the emotion of his departure.

Jon slowly had picked his belt off the floor, feeling the color in his face, “I should go…”

Sansa had said nothing, but her eyes had glittered in the firelight as she watched him leave. 

 

Sometimes, in the dark of his bed, Jon wonders if he had stayed with Sansa, even a few moments longer, would he have ever left Winterfell? He knows the answer. However, he was ashamed and felt slightly depraved. After all, she was his half-sister and he had told her all the secrets he held in her heart. If he had stayed, he would have been hers, completely and utterly.

 

There is another memory, darker for him and even more, filled with emotion. It was after his return to Winterfell with Daenerys. They had been married in the godswood and she was pregnant with Aemon, pregnant enough to show. They had been arguing. 

The armies of the dead had begun to prepare to attack and the stress of the upcoming battle had begun to show the cracks in their relationship. Jon had known they had barely known each other and had been rushed with the war and the baby but he remembered that his Uncle Ned had not known Lady Catelyn in the beginning and they had learned to love each other deeply. He had hoped that he and Daenerys would be able to find love when this was over. 

However, with the dark winter storm approaching, Dany had come to him to speak of battle plans and perhaps have his arms and loving words soothe her anxiety and dark mood. Jon had spoken of first of a plan he had, to create a diversion, so a wagon or two could break the line and get safely to White Harbor. Jon would need Dany and Drogon to help create it, but of course, precautions would be taken for her and the dragon's safety. 

Dany had spoken, “Who will be on this wagon headed to the safety of White Harbor at such great risk?”

Thinking about it, Jon should have spoken Lord Tyrion’s name first or anyone else, but he had little skill with artifice. Jon spoke, “Sansa and Lord Tyrion… Maybe Bran. Perhaps small children..?

 

Daenerys had looked at him. Her face was tight with anger and jealousy. She had seen the way Sansa had hugged Jon, the way Sansa had looked at Daenerys, the coolness the Starks had at the wedding, the longing that Jon had written so clearly on his face for her but he would never act on it.

Daenerys spoke angrily, her eyebrow raised, “So, your sister or cousin should get the safety of White Harbor but your wife and unborn child should provide a diversion for the enemy and fight in the war?…”

Listening to her, Jon saw the fault in his logic but he still argued, “Sansa is no warrior. She has never seen a battle. She does not have two dragons. If Winterfell falls, she is essential to the continuing battle. I cannot fight, knowing she may not be safe.”

After he spoke the words, Jon felt the shame creep into the space his words left. Daenerys had come to him and kissed him. When she pulled away, she had spoken, “I understand, Aegon. I understand. I am your Visenya and she is your Rhaenys.”

Jon had wanted to argue with her, pull her back and assure her she was wrong. Instead, the weight and truth of her words weighed him in his silence and thoughts. Afterward, Dany never brought it up but it had sat between them. He had left Winterfell as soon as it was safe to relocate his wife away from Winterfell and whatever feelings he had for Sansa. In time, Jon was certain the hurt would fade. However, he did not know how little time he had left with his beautiful Dragon Queen. 

 

On the night of the Ball, Jon wonders if there is a way he could feign being ill to avoid it. He has been lost in his thoughts of her the last few days and he does not want to see her. Perhaps, he should send Sansa back to Winterfell. After all, why would he deserve happiness when he has hurt both Ygritte and Danaerys even though he loved them?

Since Lady Sansa is his escort for the evening, Jon met her in the hallway behind the main gallery so that they can enter the Hall together. Sansa looked stunning. Her hair is in an elaborate braid as well as curls. The dress she wore was blue and brought out the color of her eyes. When he saw her, he smiled. He wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful but he did not. 

“You look handsome,” Sansa said, touching his jacket. 

Jon speaks, almost apologetically, “Lord Tyrion picked it out.”

“Well, you still look handsome.” She rests her hand on his chest and Jon is certain she can feel his heart trying to free itself from his chest. “I am glad you didn't cut your hair or shave your beard. You look Northern and it is a good look for you.”

 

When he escorts her in the room, the room turns to look at the King, bowing. Walking next to her, he can feel the light weight of her arm against his. Jon likes her on his arm. It is reassuring and comforting. He likes her near to him. The Hall cheers and claps to see their King.

Jon takes Sansa around the room, so all can see the King and his cousin. He also wants to show her what the bakers have made. On a table sits a huge cake with many layers of vanilla and lemon cake. It is all in white with silver shards to look like ice and diamonds. On the top in sugar is a direwolf, all grey and white, and a huge dragon in green. 

Jon looks at Sansa’s face. Her face lightens. She laughs and his heart flutters. Jon leans into her, so only she can hear him “Do you like it?”

“Oh yes. It must have taken so long for the bakers to make it. It is too fine to eat.” 

“Nonsense. I made it for you. It is lemon flavored. Just as you like.”

The King watches ad Lord Gendry comes to escort Lady Sansa away. The King must attend to all the guests and all the lords and ladies. There is no need for Sansa not to have fun and enjoy herself. But as he watches her walk away, he wishes he could go with her. Lord Velaryon is first to present his eldest sister, Lady Aerea Velaryon. Her dress is scandalous cut with gems and silver to highlight her Valyrian looks. They have made this girl look like his beautiful dead Queen. Lady Aerea sits beside him and makes conversation, but all he hears is Sansa laugh across the giant room. He thinks that must be a mistake there is no way he can hear her laugh. Yet, he does.

Jon drinks another glass of wine and speaks to Lady Aerea. “My Lady, you look lovely tonight.” 

Even as he says it, he hears the lie between the words. Jon thinks grudgingly that Sansa is the prettiest woman in the room. The Velaryon girl giggles, but the weight is much more. Lady Aerea thinks she has secured the King’s attention and she presses closer to him, leaning on his arm. She is light and fair and sweet but he cannot even hear her. The King is distracted.

All night he watches Sansa and Lord Dayne laughing or her in Gendry’s arms, dancing. The King watches her fingers keep touching Lord Willas Tyrell or Lord Tyrion. Jon sees the heat, the kindness, the way the men linger with her and make her laugh. Jon sees the protective way Gendry guides Sansa to the table his hand on her lower back, too low, scandalously low. He waits for Sansa to protest and move away. Instead, she leans into Lord Gendry, playfully whispering secrets in his ears. When did Gendry start looking so lordly? Lord Penrose, his castellan had done a fine job indeed. He had turned a bastard into a Baratheon. Jon wonders if they say the same about him. 

Lord Edric Dayne, the Sword of Morning, with Dawn on his hip and his dark eyes competes with Lord Gendry all night for Sansa's attention. Across the noisy ballroom, the King watches Lord Dayne feed Sansa the sugar dragon's head from the cake. She opens her mouth, laughing and he watches her take food from his fingers. Jon feels anger, the same rage he felt when Lord Baelish had looked at her or when Ramsay licked his lips talking about his wife. He feels like punching Lord Baratheon or Lord Dayne. He wonders if she dreams of these dark-haired fools but Sansa deserves to laugh. As the prettiest girl in the ballroom, she should have a moment in the sun. 

He feels an ache, a sadness and he wonders if she will leave him. He has not done any of it right. Jon has made a mess of it all.

Ignoring the beautiful silver-haired girl on his left, Jon leans up to his right where Lord Davos sits. He looks at Davos, ”Who would you choose?”

 

Lord Davos speaks, “It is not my choice, Your Grace.”

Suddenly, the musicians begin to play a song. Lord Davos leans over him, “Your Grace, it is time…” 

 

He can barely hear the notes of the music but he knows that he chose it because Sansa has been humming it for the last few weeks and he cannot get it out of his head. He looks at the cake, mostly eaten. The sugar dragon has been destroyed, only a leg is left. Everyone has hacked away at it. Everyone has wanted a taste of the dragon for luck for prosperity. Lord Dayne had placed the head of the dragon on the tongue of Sansa Stark as he watched across the room. Sansa had giggled as it had dissolved in her mouth

Only the wolf remains.

Lady Aerea looks at him as if he will choose her, as do twenty or more fresh-faced lovely ladies. To dance with the King at the Ball is no small thing. Sansa looks at him across the room and he feels a sharp sting as if he was slapped. 

 

“Excuse me,” he says. He kisses the small white hand pf Lady Aerea Velaryon. There is another in this crowded room that tugs at his heart. He drops her hand and the crowd parts to allow their King the ability to find who he seeks. 

 

Jon never got to dance with Daenerys. There was no time with the war. He imagines she would have been light and her smile would have been girlish if he had tried. Jon takes Sansa’s hand and she curtsies. When she rises, he speaks, “Shall we?”

 

She smiles and he feels his heart flutter. The press of her body against his chest causes an ache that he has not felt in a while and he realizes her smile is all he has looked for this week. They dance slowly. Jon is counting his steps. Robb was better at dancing, even though they both had an instructor. Around the floor, they go until other couples join the King. 

When the song is over, the King leads her out of the ballroom to the small hallway behind it. He has had enough of the dancing, enough of the feast. He wants to go see his son and perhaps if he leaves now, he will see him before he goes to sleep. He does not bid the crowd goodnight. He is tired and in no mood for politeness.

Standing in front of her in the hallway, he thought of the things he would like to say to her, how glad he was to see her laugh and her easy manner with Lord Tyrion and Lord Gendry, to ask why she could be so formal with him one minute and so close in another minute. He wanted to tell her how he wanted to remove the hand of Lord Gendry from her back the whole night and Jon wondered if she would laugh or would it anger her. He wanted to tell her the strange power she had that all night, regardless where she had been, he had known where she was as if she was a beacon for him throughout the night and he was drawn to her again and again. 

 

Jon had wanted to tell her she had been what he had been missing all these months in this haunted castle. He had been waiting for her like she was spring. He wanted to tell her all the secrets in his heart but he could not find the words or voice to speak them. After all, they had been raised in the North were words were less important than action. Jon spoke in the space between them as they stood in the empty hallway. “I am glad you enjoyed yourself tonight.”

 

She spoke looking at her hands, “ Your Grace, I hope you enjoyed yourself, as well.” 

 

Quickly with more fear of losing her than thought, he kissed her. It was impulsive and tentative. But his hands around her waist pulled her into him and brought forth a sound in her throat of pleasure. The sound excited him. He pulled from their kiss. Without formality or title, Jon spoke. "Sansa, come with me..."

"Where, Your Grace?" 

Instead of letting him speak, she wraps her arms around him and kisses him again. The feel of her desire and want against him is too much for both of them. In a second, she grabs his hair, pulling it as Jon thrusts her against the stone wall. Sansa looks at him, flushed, and speaks, almost a challenge. "You are a dragon. What does the dragon want?" 

"I want you to come with me, Sansa. Tomorrow, come with me in the morning. We will go, just you and I, and take the skiff to the Isle of Faces." 

"But, your Grace, Lady Velaryon and all the Lords will be here, waiting for an answer on who will be your bride."

 

He takes a lock of her hair. It is soft and red. There is no silver in Sansa. She is nothing like Daenerys. 

Jon took her hand and kissed the palm of it. Looking into her blue eyes, he asked again, “Will you come to the Isle of Faces with me in the morning? We will be back in time for a late lunch and I will give the Lords their answer of who will be my wife. Let them wait." 

"Yes," she said. 

 

"In the morning, then." he replied.

She nodded and he left her to find his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep-- so if you noticed... I just read Of Fire and Blood and had to include the line "I am Visenya and She is Rhaenys"... It made sense to me. I hope to finish this story for once and all tomorrow. We shall see.. Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

In the dawn, the King has a ship row them to the Isle of Faces in the center of the Gods’ Eye. The winter waters of the lake, which are a cold dead grey, are turning to a lovely blue-green because spring has finally come. Finally. The mists drift and slowly burn as the morning sun creeps from the edge of the sky. The sky is pink with morning and the King notices it is almost the same color as Sansa’s cheeks. 

Lady Sansa and King Aegon are silent as they travel across the water. Occasionally Sansa will take another biscuit with some cream to eat. They watch the swans land and play across the water. A flock of geese crosses the sky. Ghost and the new pup that Sansa has yet to name sit in the boat.   
As the boat glides toward the isle by the rowers' steady movement, Jon feels relaxed. The shores of Harrenhal and all the duties and responsibilities of being the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms are behind him. Ahead of him, the Isle of Faces grows closer and there is a sense of peace. 

Sansa catches him looking at her. Her long hair is in a one long plaited braid, thick running down her shoulder. She had surprised him when she showed up at the dock in pants like a boy. Jon was so surprised that he had laughed. She had smiled at him. “I hear the trees are overgrown and a dress would not suit my needs. Living with Arya has changed me a bit. Perhaps, if you are lucky, I will show you some of my archery skills.”

Jon had asked, “Today?”

Sansa’s smile turned playful. “Not today, your Grace. One surprise at a time or you might not think I am Sansa Stark but a changeling.”

He finds he like the shape of her legs in the pants. Jon is not surprised by that. He has begun to face the fact he has been attracted to her for a very long time. But he is surprised about the changes that she has made, changes that have made her different. He is fascinated by her and how she is both familiar and strange to him. 

Sansa looks in his face, “Your Grace, what are you thinking? You have been so quiet this morning.”

He realizes that he should not tell her how he likes the look of her legs. Instead, he brings up memories of the past when they were young in Winterfell, teasing her gently of the times when Arya would put sheep dung in her mattress or when the Septa kept trying to teach her and Robb to pray and Theon kept making fart noises. Sansa adds, “Or what about when Rickon was still little and no one could keep pants on him. He would run around the castle and how upset Mother would be..”

She laughs loudly and as they come to the island shore the talk of Rickon, Robb, Bran and their father, Ned. 

“I wish I could see Robb again,” Jon speaks and he hears the emotion in his voice. He looks at her eyes and realizes that her eyes have tears, but they do not fall. Perhaps Sansa has cried too many tears. 

“I do, too. I would have liked to see Rickon grown. What would they have said to see you the King…” she says and the wind cries through the trees. 

They have stopped on the island. There is a dock that has been newly made. King Aegon VI likes to walk among the weirwoods when he is able. It is said he keeps the Old Gods, even if he was crowned by the High Septon. 

 

Jon helps her onto the deck. “Robb would have said I look good in black. It always was my color.”

She laughs out loud again, Hearing herself, she laughs harder, as if she had forgotten and the sound of her laugh. To see her enjoying herself made Jon laugh. 

The walk along a path with several Kingsguard behind them, pretending to not be there, trying to be quiet.

Sansa looked around the acres of twisted branches with wonder. Her blue eyes sparkled as two squirrels raced across the path in front of them. Everywhere were the blood red leaves of weirwood trees. Sansa speaks as they walk, “You never took to the Seven, no matter how the Septa tried. I am glad you keep the Old Gods like a Northerner. There is much comfort in it, knowing that. Father would be glad.”

They walk the path and it opens to a clearing by the shore. There is a field and thirteen ancient giant weirwoods in a semi-circle looking over the lake. All have carved faces. Some have faces of wonder. Some are stern or angry. One is laughing. All of them cry tears of red sap because of the spring. 

Jon looks at Sansa. “Bran told me that my parents were wed on this shore. It is also said this is where the pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest was signed.” 

Sansa looks around, slowly. Her face in awe of the beauty. ”It is a lovely place, so peaceful.” 

Jon wonders as he looks around at the twisted, white branches what woman would say this place is lovely. Daenerys told him that she felt this place was haunted and lonely. He smiles knowing that Sansa understands him. 

 

Suddenly, Jon is certain why he brought her here. Looking in her eyes, he takes her hands in his. Speaking slowly, Jon looks at her. He has practiced words in his head over and over. But he finds, he cannot remember a single word. Jon worries for a moment and thinks about taking her back to the boat without saying a word. 

Sansa looks at him and squeezes his hands, “This place is more lovely than the Sept of Baelor. Please, Jon. Tell me why you brought me here.”

He looks up at the sky and notices a pair of ducks flying. The sky is as blue as her eyes. Breathing out deeply, he says, “I have need of a wife but I do not want anyone. I want you. Honestly, you are who I want. I want to have a family and you are my family. When the world was dark and without hope, you rode into Castle Black. You were all the hope I needed. You were my only family. Now, I am in another dark place and hope is in short supply. However, you have come to save me again. Sansa, you are the woman I want. You and Aemon are all the family I need. Sansa, will you marry me?” 

Her face broke into a smile, “Yes,” she spoke, hugging him.

Into the curve of her neck, he whispered, “I need you so much.”

Sansa kisses him, “I have missed you, too. I want to be your wife. Jon, I have missed you.” 

“Tell me…” 

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me that you want me for truth. Tell me that it is not because I am the King but because… you want me as a man.”

Sansa spoke, “I want you, Jon. I want you because you are kind, loyal, honest and true. I have wanted you since the moment I rode to Castle Black. When I saw you that morning, you had been the only thing that had kept me alive on so many dark days. When you wrote and asked me to come here, I thought perhaps fate had smiled on us. For once.”

 

“Marry me. Here. Marry me here. Say the words here.” He says

She smiles. “Here? There is no Septon. No witnesses.”

He kisses her again, “We do not need all that. We have the weirwoods and the Kingsguard. Later, we can marry again for the Seven Kingdoms. Today, we will marry for ourselves.”

 

In the morning light, they exchanged their vows in front of the weirwood trees and became husband and wife.

Later, much later, Jon laid in bed watching Sansa rock Aemon in a chair by the fire in their rooms. He smiled at the words their rooms. Sansa’s puppy slept peacefully beside Ghost who sat by the fire, watching the scene. Sansa was singing a Northern lullaby, the light streaming through her hair. 

“Come to bed,” Jon spoke to his wife, “Bring Aemon. I need my family close.”

Sansa brought the boy over, smiling at him, while she spoke, “You spoil him and he will not sleep on his own.”

Jon laughed, “There will be time. Now, I would like my family near me, happy and safe.”

Sansa set Aemon between them and the boy curled up against his father. Jon gathered her closer, placing a protective arm over her as she settled in the blankets. This was his family, his son and his wife. They might be wounded and scarred, but they would be fine as long as they were together.


End file.
